When last we left Marriott martinet, Peter King, he explained how overnight his opinion of Cam Newton changed because Cam Newton granted PK access for the first time in three years, which PK regards as Cam growing up without ever stopping to act how he acted childish toward Cam over the same span. Whatever, it’s PK, it’s the same dude who asks a quarterback at training camp about the baseball trading deadline.

But what about this week? Well we did things a little differently this week. READ ON.

Every week without fail Peter King’s column is too long, by at least several thousand words. In fact, it gets more bloated and full of empty nugget calories every week. He added yet another pointless section just last week.

Sometimes that’s okay. Fine, it’s never okay. But some weeks it’s easier to make fun of because it’s just that dumb and contradictory. But other weeks, PK kind of just drones on and it does no one any favors for us to make fun of him referring to all the defensive holding penalties this preseason as FLAGVILLE. So we won’t be doing the full fisking we usually do, but because we like you, here’s the quick-and-lofty distilled version:

Johnny Manziel did pretty good in his first preseason outing and says all the Right Things to the media while wearing a button-down Oxford shirt and dress jeans! Franchise QB fancy! PK pretends like no one thought Manziel had a chance to win the starting job going into the season, which is absurd, and says he now has a shot but nothing is clear as of yet. PK seems like he’s gotten a lot more friendly with Johnny Football than he was in the past, probably because JFF grants him interviews now.

Michael Sam is also doing the Right Things, most of which entails not courting any more media attention than necessary. Rest assured, the media would flip the narrative and complain that Michael Sam holds out on them AND MIGHT BE HIDING SOMETHING if he didn’t give the media anything.

The preseason has many penalties. There won’t be so many in the regular season, we are assured. The head of officiating was hanging out with the Cowboys, but he is a man of virtue and probably didn’t fuck within Jerry Jones’ harem, we are also assured.

Stats from the new Football Outsiders book are recited, because this isn’t bloated enough, it needs borrowed content from other sources.

There’s a three-minute video of PK answering questions from Twitter. Yes, this actually exists. PK’s hammy face was judged so visually compelling by someone at TheMMQB that the mere sight of him answering pedestrian football inquires from Twitter requires video. That’s just dynamic web presence is what that is.

MMQB colleague Andy Benoit is just soooooo quirky. Hurry up and make him the boyfriend in the next Zooey Deschanel thing. Look at him drinking all that milk like a spazz!

Finally, buried near the end of this week’s list of non-football thoughts he thinks he thinks, Peter King finally makes his way back to his relationship with Cam Newton.

A note on the discourse in this country, and on social media, in the wake of my Cam Newton column last week. I accept the fact that some people won’t agree with what I write, or find ulterior motives about why I wrote about an olive branch Newton offered to me. But can we disagree and be critical without telling me to go bleep myself 19 different ways?

Here’s the thing: we can’t. When the best the offending party can do is offer a pearl-clutching plea for civility when confronted with overwhelming evidence of how they suck, it behooves the dick job website to ignore the plea and instead move forward with the administration of 19 different ways PK can fuck himself. To wit:

1. No – Fuck yourself with an olive branch.

2. No – Fuck yourself with a printout of last week’s MMQB.

3. No – Fuck yourself with Brett Favre’s cellphone.

4. No – Fuck yourself after a coffee enema.

5. No – Fuck yourself after you brush your teeth in the morning.

6. No – Fuck yourself in a Starwood W Hotel.

7. No – Fuck yourself in a Starwood Sheraton Hotel.

8. No – Fuck yourself in a Starwood St. Regis Hotel

9. No – Fuck yourself with a copy of The Chicago Manual of Style, 16th Edition.

10. No – Fuck yourself with a copy of Mark Twain’s The Awful German Language.

11. No – Fuck yourself listening to Jerry Remy call a Red Sox game.

12. No – Fuck yourself while not properly re-Tweeting questions and answers.

13. No – Fuck yourself after your brush your teeth in the evening.

14. No – Fuck yourself next time you consider yourself the final arbiter on a player’s worthiness in the NFL.

15. No – Fuck yourself in the RV.

16. No – Fuck yourself on the NBC set with Tony Dungy shamefully watching.

17. No – Fuck yourself next time you change your mind on Johnny Manziel.

Not sure this specific fucking is much of a punishment. King would greatly enjoy that. He may in fact possess a Favre-shaped mini-dildo. He may be doing it right now in the Marriott with a cup of venti mega sugarcino IPA.

@I love it when you call me Bob Poppa
The worst, man. And I also got exactly four classes worth of use out of it. I was so dumb that I kept it, thinking I would need it when I became a professional journalist. Btw – this page is the fart-sniffingest thing I’ve read in forever: http://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/qanda/latest.html

Well Peter King when you and your brethern have no problem calling athletes of any sport that act in a manner that you deem immature, no you don’t get to control the narrative on this subject. I can think of 5.2 million ways I’d like to tell you, Bayless, Cowherd, Prisco, Plaschke, Wilbon, Cowlishaw and others to go fuck yourself but I’ll settle for the classic:
GO FUCK YOURSELF IN THE ASS WITH A RUSTY CHAINSAW. Good day Barista Bitch.

The problem is all inside your head
He said to me
The answer is easy if you
Take it logically
I’d like to help you in your struggle
To be free
There must be nineteen ways
To fuck yourself

He said it’s really not my habit
To Extrude
Furthermore, I hope my meandering
Won’t be tossed or misconstrued
But I’ll repeat myself
At the risk of being crude
There must be nineteen ways
To fuck yourself
Nineteen ways to fuck yourself

You Just take it in the seat, Pete
No need to be cliche, PK
Lube it up with Mayo, Pedro
Just get yourself tweets
It doesn’t have to be fierce, Pierce
You discuss way too much
Just hop on your key, Petie
And set yourself free

Sarah said it grieves me so
To read PK again
I wish there was something I could do
To get me thru this pain
And so she drank wine and said
That’s some tasty Night Train
I still see nineteen ways

She said why don’t I just
Go and ignore PK today
And I believe the Kommentariat
Will understand and say “okay”
And then she made flan
And wished Uproxx would up her lousy pay
There must be nineteen ways
To shade that fat PK
Nineteen ways to anally violate that nutmeg-swilling overpaid hack.

Hello Latte my old friend
It seems you’re missing nutmeg once again.
Visions of Favre’s creamy seedlings
Texted to me while I was sleeping.
And the chip that was planted in my brain,
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In wider fields I walk with soy
Denied access by gloryyy boyyys
Music pumping from the Dome
Remembering Parcell’s captive home
When my eyes where stabbed by the flash of a twitter call
“Lick my balls”
And shocked the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand columns maybe more.
Columns talking without speaking.
Tweeting thoughts without reading.
Writing things that people do not share.
Cause no one cares.
It disturbs the sound of silence

iii. Fuck yourself with your random baseball shirts for teams you barely know or like because you’re a shitty Red Sox fan SO JUST OWN IT AND STOP TRYING TO SUCK UP.

π. Fuck yourself with a rotisserie league.

π2. Fuck yourself with an actual rotisserie.

5. Fuck yourself with a thesaurus.

2^3-2. Fuck yourself with an actual editor–I know you’ll have to go out and find one but get one, have that person read your damned column, and when they are shock from realizing this shit gets you seven-figures, bludgeon them with an Allagash bottle and fuck yourself with the editors stiff body.

This is abad world the GOP has created where sportswriters are constantly harassed and intimidated, using lots of nefarious triggering mechanisms that work on the brain, and meant to feel like they aren’t worth the millions they get paid.

This is yet another example of country-wide GOP racism. Unbelievable, unbelievable…

I was just thinking how awful it is that someone like Robin Williams had to go through so much angst and struggle, waking up every day fighting depression. While PK rolls out of his business hammock every morning with a big fat fucking smile on his face.

I can’t help but think it’s going to include Peter’s amazement at RW’s role in one of his shittier movies like Patch Adams, and some horrible pun off of a famous RW line. Something along the lines of “Boo Hoo for Nanu Nanu”.

If you’re suggesting we should make shitting on PK an annual tradition and perhaps start a festival around it, then I whole-heartedly support your idea and would like to subscribe to your pamphlet.

Some potential names for your new event:

Go Fuck Yourself Fest 2014
LollapaLoser
The Running of the Bullshit
Lost in Shitty Snippets
Go-to-hell-a
Shundance
The What a Country Music Awards
Bumbershoot me, please
Azz Fest (may already be a thing)
Woodstock, maybe.
Nugget-Con

@Sill No, no, no. Im sorry, that was definitely supposed to be both satirical and potentially prescient. I tried to capture something that would be both absurd and plausible at the same time. Just the fact that that seemed like something he would tweet still makes him a horrible human being.

Should have waited before posting earlier about Petey’s inability to demonstrate a natural human response to a person’s death. He continues to demonstrate stupidity without any of us adding to it. Why the fuck would you as a hostess at a restaurant whether they were aware a famous person died before you are seated for dinner. Who does that?

Actually, I would look at it the other way around – God has chosen to hang out with Robin Williams a bit before his time. Meanwhile, Peter King will outlive Methuselah because God isn’t going to want to spend a single extra second of eternity with that tubboccino.

(Do NOT click through if you don’t want to see a woman on the verge of death)

Yeah, I get it that Christy Mack is a porn star. Does it make her obligated to have this fucking lunatic called War Machine bludgeon and stab her to the brink of her death?

NO FUCKING WAY

This society wants to go the way of Rome, as all degraded societies do.

We’re supposed to be above that, yet we gladly conscion gladiatorial combat between complete psychopaths for the amusement of complete sociopaths.

UFC, MMA and their even more tragically unregulated “feeder circuits” are anathema to an enlightened society. These crimes against our civilization need to be ended before another ‘roided up psychopath cripples or kills another person outside the fucking “Octagon.”

In civilized America, the octagon is a symbol for STOP.

At least the goddamn NFL has protective equipment and rules.

These “ultimate fighters” may as well be armed with nets and tridents and cast into the arena against one another.

We’re living in a country that’s blended religion and capitalism into a fine, frothy mix of “Fuck You,” where ignorance is celebrated and Kardasshians run free. There’s no way we’re above brutal gladiatorial combat.

@Sill Bimmons While I agree that UFC fighters are very under paid and Dana White is a blustery Fuck that lucked into a dream job that even he couldn’t derail, I’m not sure what War Machine’s sadistic misogyny (a trait only 75,000 years old) has to do with the sport of MMA.

He’s as much a porn star now as an MMA fighter, so is this incident also an indictment of the adult entertainment industry?

Just showed several pics of puppies to the hostess at the Fond du Lac Applebee’s. Her: “They’re so cute! I want one!” Me: “They’re in a shelter. They’ll be dead by morning.” Felt good to get the scoop.

I’d request for this to be a future Kommenter Draft but it seems it already happened. So I’ll take, in order:

1. Go fuck yourself with a rusty rake.
II. Go fuck yourself with every rusty rake Sideshow Bob stepped on in Cape Feare.
C. Go fuck yourself with a lance.
Four. Go fuck yourself on the Pesky Pole. Or with the Pesky Pole. Or with the Pesky Pole on the Monstah. They’re all sufficient.